A Million Miles to One
by IncomprehensibleSparks
Summary: NATO is non-existent. The European Union is falling apart. The Commonwealth is dying. Just how far would a Nation go to remain strong? People do some shocking things, for love...
1. Part One

**A Million Miles to One **

**Part One**

_Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs entirely to Hidekaz Himaruya. None of the events in this story are designed to mirror real life. Don't start flaming me just because you think that your country is being portrayed in a negative fashion. _

_Background: This story is set one year after the dissolution of NATO, and six months after the discovery of multiple new oil deposits in Australia. America, contrary to the events that are occurring now, has not pulled out of the East. _

_Pairings: GerIta, SpaMano, sorta-kinda-USUK, and a few others... _

**23****rd**** August, 2014**

"The way I see it, there is only one remaining solution." England sighed, running a tired hand through his messy blonde hair. "We pull out of the East. For good. We have already done-"

"What!" To no one's surprise, America had leapt up from his seat, blue eyes wide behind wire-framed glasses.

"Be reasonable, America," said Germany, calmly meeting the Nation's frantic gaze. "Our economies cannot afford the extra expense of what could quite possibly be a futile mission. As it is, the European Union-"

"The Union is practically finished," America retaliated, gesturing wildly around the conference table. England and Germany followed the sweep, quickly assessing the other nations present; all were looking unbearably fatigued, lips tight with an accumulation of stress and pain.

"Your point?" asked Germany wearily, sinking slowly back into his chair.

"My point is…" America seemed to be grasping for the correct words: words which would convey his message without completely alienating his contacts. But then, his open face seemed to set, and he cleared his throat roughly. "My point is that you can all do whatever the hell you want. Let me do the same."

There was a moment's hushed silence. North Italy, who had up until this point been fast asleep, blinked dazedly, clinging tightly to Ludwig's shirt.

"That seems reasonable enough," said England, looking down at the table, so as to prevent himself from making eye-contact with anyone. "However, I cannot fund or condone any further action that you choose to take."

The freshly formed grin slipped from America's face.

"I second that."

"Acknowledged, bastard."

"Also acknowledged, aru~"

"Oui."

As his last hopes of receiving economic support fell away, America felt a sharp stab to the chest, and he was unsure as to whether the pain stemmed from his country's wellbeing, or from his own volatile emotions.

"We will send through the official documents tonight," muttered England. "Meeting adjourned."

The countries slowly filed out through the gaping double doors, sometimes alone, sometimes murmuring softly to their neighbours. Alfred felt slightly ghost-like: everyone's eyes slid through him, and no one dared to touch him or speak to him, or even acknowledge his existence.

England, who had finally packed up his briefcase, similarly turned to go. But a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

"What do you want, America?"

America bit his lip, glancing away, out through one of the arching windows, towards the darkening London sky: for once untainted by rain.

"When you said that you couldn't help me out… Did you really mean that… you wouldn't? If you were given the choice?"

Arthur finally looked back up, and America flinched at the unadulterated numbness of his gaze. The right hand corner of his mouth had flicked up into an emotionless smirk, devoid of both sympathy and hate.

"That was… perceptive of you."

America's grasp slackened, and England lightly knocked his arm away, disappearing down the empty corridor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Later that day**

The fax came through at eight o'clock, the harsh dial-tone jilting America out of his reverie. In the corner of the 'family' room, the muted television flickered off, and the lights died overhead.

It obviously didn't take much to max out the power in England, these days.

America retrieved the extensive, yet deceptively simple document from the slot, and, with shaking hands, he lit a spare candle.

A line of familiar signatures ran their way down two sides of a page, followed by another lengthy list of criteria.

He signed without a second thought.

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**2****nd**** September, 2014 **

At three a.m., America picked up the phone, bleary-eyed, hair dishevelled, with a sinking feeling in his heart.

"Hello?"

"America. This is Germany."

America frowned in confusion, leaning over to switch on his bedside light. The room glowed softky around him, and shadows flickered weirdly in their corners.

Terrified, he flicked it swiftly back off again.

"America? Are you there?"

"Yeah," he replied shakily. "What's up, Germany?"

"You were right. The Union has been dissolved."

It took Alfred's sleep-befuddled brain a few moments to comprehend the message.

"The European Union?"

"Yes," said Germany patiently. "The plans were finalized only a few hours ago. We are splitting off into out prior economic systems. You should be closely monitoring your stock-market for any changes that this division may entail."

"Will everyone be okay?"

Germany heaved a sigh, which rustled down the telephone line like wind through crusted Autumn leaves. "Most of us will be fine. However…"

"Who?"

"Don't attempt to help," Germany warned. "Attitudes towards you aren't very positive, at the moment. Your constant requests for assistance without return were considered to be very presumptuous."

"_Who?" _

"Spain. Greece, to an extent. Italy."

Now America could hear the stress lining his tone, and he knew that, due to Italy's hardship, Germany wouldn't be faring too well, emotionally…

"Don't try anything," repeated Germany, mistaking his silence for dangerous thought. "Acting the hero isn't going to help anyone, especially yourself."

"Sure," America conceded. "Thanks… ya know… for bothering to tell me."

"Don't mention it. To anyone."

He dropped the phone back into the dock, rolled over, and attempted to go back to sleep. He never did. He waited for the ghosts to disappear, and watched the room grow slowly lighter, and when the news of a series of major crashes in the American stock market arrived, unannounced at his front door, he wasn't at all surprised.

Neither was he surprised – only wounded – when certain agreements were declared void, and all European trade with America was permanently halted.

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**16****th ****October, 2014 **

Two months later, there was not a single American worker, soldier or student left in the East. Costs had vastly risen, and continued exportation and alliance had proved to be much too expensive.

Saudi Arabia responded in turn.

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**14****th**** November, 2014 **

America, shaking violently, and fighting down the urge to vomit, made a frantic call to Australia.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**16****th**** November, 2014 **

Two days later, Australia agreed to the mass mining and exportation of coal. The plan was focused expressly on America.

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**30****th**** November, 2014 **

"G'day, Britain," Australia greeted, as the other nation stepped off his private aeroplane. He was surprised by the distinct iciness lining his mentor's eyes, and he subconsciously braced himself for the confrontation that was sure to come.

"Australia."

The pair walked in silence to the waiting vehicle. The dark-tinted windows rolled slowly up, blocking them from view.

"How are you?" asked England. His tone was pleasant enough, but there was an underlying note of sarcasm which made the hairs on the back of Australia's neck stand on end.

"Fine. And yourself?"

England seemed to consider the question. "I'm not feeling too well at the moment, actually. My left ear's itching like mad."

Australia frowned, wondering where this was going. When it came to business, England always had a hidden agenda.

"Funny," the other nation continued. "I could've sworn that I've felt the same itch before… Must've been… what, three hundred years ago, now?" He looked up at Australia beseechingly, as if seeking his opinion.

Australia racked his brain, searching for the relevant facts….

Then his face paled, correlating perfectly with a sickening swooping sensation, hurtling down from his throat to his stomach.

"Very slow, aren't you?" commented England, nonchalantly.

Australia didn't dare to speak.

"Tell me. Are you consciously trying to antagonize our relationship?"

"Our _relationship?_ I don't-"

"Would you care to explain the story behind your sudden oil exports to America, and your equally sudden withdrawal to everywhere else?"

"I'm still supplying Europe with oil!" exclaimed Australia. "But I've never been one of the sole providers before. Now that the Arab nations have withdrawn their supply, I-"

"Let me rephrase," cut in England. "You are providing America with large quantities of oil, disproportionate to the quantity demanded of you in your original agreement. Why is that?"

"I was hardly supplying _anything _before," said Australia. His palms, clamped together in his lap, were starting to perspire. "But…" He broke off, a mere second too late, praying that Briatin wouldn't have noticed.

"But _what, _Australia?"

"…there's a new arrangement." The words tumbled out in a confused flurry, choking in Australia's throat. He had to cough to clear his wind-pipe.

England was silent for a moment, as if he was digesting the information. "You didn't inform me of this."

Soft. Dangerous. Only made worse by the confused hurt backing the statement.

"I wasn't instructed to tell you. Or any other European nation, at that."

Australia could feel England's eyes boring holes into the sides of his head. A bead of sweat slipped down from his hairling, and it felt unnervingly like blood.

"No, Oz," said England, chuckling. "You were instructed _not _to tell me."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. A huge one."

After a brief silence, England began to softly hum. The tune was familiar… an old war song, perhaps. He went on for a few verses, and then paused, as if a stray thought had suddenly crossed his mind.

"Why do you keep trying to lie to me? You need more practice, you know."

Australia attempted to protest, but stopped abruptly as he registered England's next words.

"Last night, I received an interesting call from Russia. He seemed to think that we could somehow strengthen our relations if he notified me of the new American-Australian contract. SO tell me… why did _Russia _know of this matter when I didn't? We _are _still part of the same Commonwealth, correct?"

Australia did not dare deny or confirm. His neck and jaw were frozen in numb, horrified shock.

"Unless…" Now England laughed: really laughed. "So predictable. You're searching for _allies_. You notify Ivan, in the vain hope that it will win his favour. And he notifies me, hoping to accomplish the exact same thing."

Australia flushed darkly, turning away in a hopeless attempt to hide his face.

"Let me make my point," said England. "Your first responsibility is to Britain. Make sure that you uphold that. But… if you wish to forge alliances, I would advise that you select better candidates."

"What do you mean by that?" The words were little more than a hoarse croak – barely audible, despite the silence.

"America is finished," England stated, bluntly.

The words resonated around the car: inside Australia's head, and he had to squint to dim the sudden racket.

"The European... _prior _European Union isn't looking too great either," retorted Australia.

"Britain is faring well. As are France and Germany."

"What about everyone else?"

England's huge eyebrows furrowed, forging tiny creases in the bridge of his nose. "Oz, sometimes you have to look out for your own people _above _all else. That is a simple fact of life."

And although this statement twanged a nasty string inside Australia's heart, he couldn't find a valid argument with which to retaliate. Bringing up 'loyalty' would only open himself up to criticism: _What about your loyalty to Britain? _

Instead, he dove for the last resort. Their personal lives.

"I heard… I _thought_… that you loved him."

England's face instantly grew stony, and his lips curled upward, baring his teeth.

"_Then you bloody well thought wrong, didn't you?" _

He wrenched open the car door, clambering out and striding angrily back, across the desert dust, to the waiting jet.

Australia stared after him, unable to shake the feeling that he had just made a massive mistake.

England muttered a few terse words to the waiting attendants, who vacated the main cabin and closed the doors behind him, leaving him entirely alone.

And it was only as the plane took flight that he allowed himself to collapse into a chair, and allowed himself to feel, and allowed himself to cry.

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**21****st**** December, 2014 **

America awoke in his Manhattan apartment to chaos, and eleven new text messages.

The winter streets were chilly and bare, with only the occasional passing cab left to prove that the city hadn't been completely abandoned during the night. The climate was tense, on-edge, and the majority of America's citizens were enclosed in their houses, gathered around radios and television sets, anxiously waiting for any sign of… well, _anything. _

And that was what was so frustrating about this whole mess, America thought. The sheer lack of global panic, of emergency, despite the heaving political climate.

The oil trade with Australia was only a temporary fix for a mammoth problem. America had no way of properly compensating, for there was nothing to compensate with. Since no one could identify what the problem actually _was_, finding a working solution was proving to be difficult.

His eyes wandered unwillingly over to the bedside table, where his flashing mobile phone resided.

Eleven messages. One from Japan. Another from Australia. All the rest were from England.

Japan's was simply. A subtle, probing check-up on the current state of his affairs. America deleted it.

Australia's was slightly more earth-shattering.

'_Separated from the Commonwealth. This doesn't change anything for you, mate.'_

That would make things easier for them, at least… America vaguely wondered whether New Zealand was also contemplating a split.

Nine remaining.

'_America, I…' _

'_I don wan…' _

'_Can I SeE…' _

'_Im sorry, but…' _

'_I cantwork now…' _

'_How are…' _

'_I'm doing…' _

'_Australia… he…' _

'_Goodbye.' _

_Goodbye. _

Such a simple word. So meaningless, but still…

So meaningless.

With trembling fingers, America dialled England's number. On the third ring, he answered.

"America?"

"Yeah," he replied, left breathless by the sudden surge of relief. "England… Are you okay? It's just that… You sent me all those texts, and I thought that-"

"Sorry about that," said England brusquely. "I was drunk. It won't happen again."

"But Artie… I just… I'm sorry for not calling you after the conference. I was really pissed off, ya know? But I understand why, now. So-"

"I appreciate the thought," said England. "But it wasn't necessary."

America sighed, walking back over to view the dull morning sky, stretching endlessly above his land, blotting out the sun. "Can… can I see you? I'll fly over to your place, and everything. I'll buy you dinner, and we could go see a movie…"

"America." England choked, and blinked hastily to rid his eyes of the incomprehensible stinging that had seemed to plague them lately. "Alfred. _I can't._"

"But-"

"Goodbye."

He hung up. Alfred didn't. He just stood there, in his ratty old t-shirt and boxers, listening to the dial tone.

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_AN. Let's hear it, everybody. 'DAAAAWWW…' All I could think of was America, standing alone in his bedroom, looking all adorable and heartbroken. Love it? Like it? Hate it? Please leave me a review. ConCrit is appreciated. It lets me know whether my characters are OC. _

_Speaking of OC's… You may have found Australia (in particular) to be this. I find it very hard to write him as a 'true blue Aussie.' I have also never visited the Northern Territory (which is mostly desert, and where he and England met up), but I would love to go someday!_


	2. Part Two

**A Million Miles to One **

**Part 2 **

**4****th**** February, 2015 **

"So Oz. How'd you do it?"

Australia regarded Scotland solemnly, as though preparing to impart an ancient, fantastic secret.

"I signed a few papers."

Scotland rolled his deep blue eyes, and _tsked _impatiently. "Don't be stupid, lad. What did he do to you to drive you to leave?"

Australia grinned cockily, leaning as far back as his rickety bar stool would allow. "What's it to ya, Uncle Scotty?"

"You think you're so smart," Scotland countered, pursing his lips. "I'm just curious, that's all. You can't blame a nation for that."

"Well… I guess I'm just braver then you. _That's _all."

"Cheeky little bugger," muttered Scotland, pulling Australia into a friendly headlock and ruffling his spiky brown hair. The younger Nation squirmed uncomfortably, fighting for physical freedom.

"Bullshit," said Scotland. "My Scotsmen are ten times braver then your Aussies."

Australia raised a sceptical eyebrow, and knocked back an entire glass of beer before responding. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we're not braver. But we sure are smarter then you lot."

"Oh, yes? How'd you figure?"

Australia hiccoughed. "You're still part of Britain, aren't you?"

"Yeah," said Scotland. "But I'm also still financially secure. Not all of us own land that's stacked to the brim with minerals."

"If France managed, you could manage," said Australia. "You're way too dependent on Arthur Bloody Kirkland. And sure, England's doing fine _now. _But what if Saudi pulls the stopper on him, too? 'Cause he sure as hell won't be fallin' back on me."

Five minutes later, Scotland picked up the tab, told Oz that he'd see him around sometime, and left the overcrowded bar.

The streets of Sydney were particularly lively tonight. It was as if the entire city had come out to celebrate its independence. Every few minutes, a fresh volley of fireworks would explode overhead, setting the harbour water aglow.

Could the kid be right? Was separation from the Commonwealth really the safest option? Australia was already charging ahead, as though he believed that he could ally with the world.

Scotland knew from experience that his was a stupid notion to have… but still. The idea of having complete freedom was near impossible to shake.

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**18****th**** February, 2015 **

Two weeks later, Scotland was following in his baby brother's footsteps.

The publicised reasons were simple: economic and political independence, and the furthering of international alliances.

Australia had rung, hoping to congratulate him. Scotland had ignored the call.

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**30****th**** March, 2015 **

"West… you've really gotta stop drinking. We're almost out of beer, and it's gotten pretty expensive lately."

Germany just groaned, and sank further down in his chair. His head tilted sideways, coming to rest on the grubby kitchen table.

Gilbert sighed, patting his younger brother on the back. Their days were becoming repetitive: Ludwig would spend nearly every waking hour at North Italy's side, come home, and attempt to drink himself into oblivion. And Prussia would always be there to clean up the mess.

"Come on, West. This isn't helping Feliciano at all."

Ludwig turned to meet Prussia's gaze, icy eyes devoid of live. "Don't you get it? I _can't _help Feli. He's _dying, _Gilbert, and I can't do one fucking _thing."_

"Well, we can't just sit here! We've gotta do _something_."

"Do you have any ideas then? Because I'd _love _to hear them…"

"No," said Gilbert uncomfortably. "But Italy's probably choking up blood right now, and Austria…"

His hand fell away, and moved upwards to tug painfully at his silvery hair. "Fuck… we can't just… do nothing!"

Then an idea – so simple, but so damn _brilliant_ – floated unbidden into his mind. He rose abruptly, brushing past his bewildered brother, and punched a sequence of numbers into a phone.

"Hello? I need to speak to France."

"What the hell are you calling France for?" mumbled Ludwig. Prussia ignored him.

"Hey, Francis. Yeah, it's Gil. Huh? Yeah, well Europe's dying, and we've gotta fucking fix it."

Germany tried very hard to crush the tiny spark of hope that had ignited in his chest. Whatever plan his brother had thought up wasn't going to work. It couldn't possibly work. Italy's face had been far too pale… his grip on Ludwig's hand far too weak to be remotely worth hoping for…

"Brilliant! We'll see you at Ita-chan's house tomorrow."

Gilbert spun around, phone still clutched tightly to his ear, a manic grin lighting his face.

The spark burst abruptly into flames.

"It's gonna be okay," said Gilbert. "Roddy… and everyone… We're all gonna be okay."

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**31****st**** March, 2015 **

"Alright, Prussia," said Hungary, rubbing her tired eyes against the back of her hand. "What's this master plan of yours?"

Gilbert, standing at the foot of Feliciano's bed, glanced briefly around the crowded bedroom. For once, even Poland was silent: siting neatly in the corner next to Lithuania, their pinkies tightly interlinked.

"Most of us are looking like shit," said Gilbert. "We thought that, by dissolving the Union, we would stop dragging each other down. But you've already gone so far down that it's been impossible for you to pick yourselves back up again."

"Why do you care?" asked Belgium, smiling wryly. "You're doing fine."

"I care because my brother does. Just… take a look at him. Go on."

Twenty pairs of eyes flickered over to Italy's motionless, skeletal form, and then onto Germany's lined face, creased by stress and fear and grief.

"I care," Gilbert continued, volume climbing, "because I don't want to sit back and watch as the world dies or drops into poverty around me." A fierce light entered his crimson eyes, and now, the present nations could not deny the sheer determination behind his speech.

"We make a new Union. Bigger and better and more controlled than the last. And we help each other out. Think of this as an alliance, if you like. We make decisions _together. _Spain's enemy is my enemy."

From his seat next to Romano, Spain shot the albino a friendly wink.

"So… You're proposing to form an international republic, of sorts," mumbled Switzerland, absentmindedly stroking his sister's hair.

"Sort of," Prussia agreed.

"I see," said Austria, readjusting his glasses. As he spoke, two fresh lacerations split through the side of his face. "If I may ask, why are the Baltics here? Russia?"

Russia smiled widely, closing his eyes contentedly as the temperature of the room fell by several degrees.

"The more stabilised Europe becomes, the better," replied Gilbert. After a brief pause, he smirked. "Who's with me?"

"'took you long enough to come and help us, Potato Bastard," said Romano, tone light in spite of his harsh words. "Speaking for the whole of Italy… we'll join the damn alliance."

Antonio laughed, and the sound bounced off every all, lightening the sombre mood. "Of course!"

"You will give me a chance to think about this, da?"

"Sure," agreed Gilbert.

He felt elated. Invincible. Unstoppable. He felt _needed_.

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**Later that Day **

At eleven o'clock that evening, both Scotland and England received identical text-messages from Gilbert Beilschmidt.

The former drafted a hasty reply, and sent it off immediately.

The latter simply shook his head, and continued to deny all external contact.

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**5****th**** April, 2015 **

"Mathieu! How are you?"

"Fine, thanks." Mattie blushed as France's hand lightly skimmed his hair. He took his usual sear in a small, yet comfortable chair directly opposite the lacy gold monstrosity which Francis almost always occupied.

Francis slowly poured himself a glass of wine. Canada shuffled and fidgeted.

"Um… If you don't mind me asking… why did you invite me over?"

He licked his lips, smiling at his sort-of son. "Come now, mon ami, we have not seen each other in ages! Tell me about what you have been doing lately."

"Are you asking Mathew, or Canada?"

Francis' smile grew. "Both of you, of course. You are, indeed, the same person."

"No, we're not," sighed Mattie. "Canada is a country, with responsibilities. Mathew is a person, with feelings."

"That is a very interesting way to view life."

Mattie shrugged. His pale cheeks were now a flaming red, and he seemed to shrink into himself, occupying as little space as possible.

"Alright," Francis allowed. "How is Mathieu doing?"

"I'm okay. I…"

"What is it?" Francis' clear blue eyes narrowed, sensing the emotional disturbance in the other Nation's heart.

"I'm worried about Alfred. And England. And my country."

"Ah… Arthur. He is not doing so well, I'm afraid."

"You've seen him?" said Mattie, hopefully.

"Oui. I payed dear England a visit yesterday, to make sure that he had truly made up his mind on joining the confederation. It was very… difficult… to even get into the country."

"What did he say?"

"He told me," said Francis, perfectly cheerfully, "to stuff off."

"Maybe I should go and talk to him," Canada suggested, but France shook his head.

"Non. He would simply mistake you for Alfred."

"He isn't too happy with America at the moment," said Mattie.

"Who is?" said France, drily. "America's constant interference in everyone's affairs… NATO was dissolved because of it, and…" He chuckled. "Sorry. I sometimes get a little carried away."

"I haven't seen Alfred today," said Mattie. "Maybe I should go down there. Check if he's alright."

He moved to stand up, but Francis rose with him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Wait a minute. I invited you over because… I wanted to extend you an invitation to join the EC."

Canada blinked. "Pardon?"

"Would you like to become a part of Europe?"

"I- I… I'll have to… to think about it."

"Of course," said Francis gracefully. "The offer will remain open for as long as is necessary."

"T-thank you," Canada stuttered, and almost tripped over himself in his haste to leave the brightly lit chateau.

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**7****th**** April, 2015 **

"…marks the day of the formation of the European Confederation: a political and economic agreement, not dissimilar to the former European Union. Leaders have assured us that the alliance will brink renewed stability and prosperity to all member countries, including Germany, Italy, France, Spain, Scotland and Southern Ireland. England's Prime Minister has scorned the collaboration, and has halted all trade between-"

"Shut it off," groaned America, glancing beseechingly up at his younger brother. Canada complied, taking the remote from the kitchen counter and switching the television off.

"America…" Mathew murmured. "You're going to have to do something. I mean, maybe asking for permission to join the agreement… wouldn't be such a bad idea."

"No," said Alfred automatically. "I'm not apologising for anything. I can make it through this on my own."

"That's bullshit, Alfred," said Mattie, violet eyes pained. "You're being swamped with emigrants. Hell, even your own _people _think you're going to fall!"

"Well they're wrong!" Alfred pulled himself to his feet, turning to face his brother. "It's _because _of them that I'm… I'm…"

"You're such an idiot!" Canada despaired. "Stop being the Hero for once. Apologies really aren't that hard."

"How do you know?" America rallied, frowning so deeply that his glasses began to slip down his nose. Canada simply smiled.

"Because I have to apologise for _you _all the time."

America changed tack at once.

"Are you still trading with them?"

Canada flushed guiltily, then wondered why he had. "Yes, I am."

Alfred pouted. "Aww, come on! What's with the crappy sibling support?"

"We're countries, Al. We do what our bosses tell us to… unless they conflict with our own opinions."

America laughed loudly, and Canada found the sound to be rather unnerving, given the circumstances. It was almost _too _wild, too uncontrolled.

"Yeah, I guess so. But that doesn't mean we don't feel, right? That doesn't mean that we don't love?"

"No," Mattie agreed softly. "We feel. Possibly even more strongly than any human does. The difference is, that in our case, our feelings don't matter when it comes down to what's best for the people."

After a time, America nodded. "It's not fair, though."

"Life isn't fair. But… I suppose that Nations can use their statuses to… sway their bosses to their point of view. That's sort of what Gilbert and Ludwig did."

"Geez, Mattie. I never knew that you were so… so…"

"Manipulative?" Canada supplied. "No, I'm not. But if I were in the same situation as Germany, I would've done anything to save someone I loved."

"What about me?"

Canada startled, frowning at his brother confusedly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

America ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing. Don't worry. Anyway… you looked kind of sad this morning. What was that about?"

Canada bit his lip, looking nervously away. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

Everything would've been so much easier if America would be brave enough to just say that he was goddamn _sorry_, and join _with _him.

Of course, thought Mattie, Nothing was ever that simple.

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**10****th**** August, 2015 **

"Kiku. Kiku! Wake up!"

A pair of dark eyes blinked open, coming to rest on a wayward strand of black hair.

"Y-Yong Soo," Kiku stammered, quickly taking in his brother's panicked expression and dishevelled clothing. "What's wrong?"

"Taiwan," Yong Soo gasped, lips faintly trembling. "She's… she…"

Kiku had crawled out from under his futon in an instant, shrugging on a light oriental robe, his fingers fumbling with the buttons.

Yao Wang was already there, waiting for them, clutching tightly to Taiwan's clammy hand. She was incredibly pale: the contrast severely evident against her thick lashes and narrow eyebrows. Her hair was sprawled messily across her pillow, face peaceful, and Japan wondered whether she had been placed that way intentionally, as though in expectance of her death.

"What happened?" he asked, very softly, collapsing into a chair placed very near to the bed.

"The American trade network went down overnight,' Yao explained. "Taiwan was rather badly affected."

"Fair Trade was invented in Korea," Yong Soo spat. "Obviously, my ways have not yet reached American borders."

"It isn't his fault," protested Kiku. "The European Nations-"

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," said Hong Kong. "What matters is the way we solve the problem."

"We? What can _we _do?" said Yao. His grip on her hand slackened, and he wiped the sweat off on his trousers.

"We are family," said Kiku, firmly. "We must do something. And besides… I am not doing so well myself. Once Europe stabilises fully, my economy will no longer be able to keep up."

Yao remained silent. He was doing well, currently, as the downfall of America had assured him the place of World Superpower. But there was a small chance that Europe… No. That wasn't possible.

"I'll do anything!" exclaimed Hong Kong. "Maybe we should copy Germany and France. Form a-"

"No," said Yao. "I refuse to follow others, especially in the creation of something as reckless as what you are suggesting."

"China-kun," said Japan, momentarily dumb-struck. "Taiwan is very sick! Without help, she will-"

"_I know! But there is nothing I can do!" _

And with that, he rose, and stormed from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

The only sound to be heard was the irregular _bleeping _of Taiwan's heart rate-monitor. Kiku's eyes were still frozen on the door, while Yong-Soo's were tightly closed, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

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**2****nd**** September, 2015 **

'_You have three new voice messages. Message one.'_

'"Ah… Hi… It's Gilbert… I was just wondering whether… Ah, shit… Never mind."'

'_Message deleted. Message two.' _

'"It's Prussia. Eliza, I want to talk to you. I can't… I… Don't worry. Sorry for bothering you."'

'_Message deleted. Message three.' _

'"Shit… Elizaveta, can we just… Just talk? I'll meet you somewhere for coffee… How about that place a couple of streets away from your house? Tuesday afternoon, three o'clock. I'll be waiting there."'

'_Message deleted. You have no more voice messages.' _

xxxxxxxxxxx

**3****rd**** September, 2015 **

"_Gil… It's Hungary. Are you ever going to pick up your phone? I… I can't see you outside of work, right now. You… you need to accept that I'm with Roderich now, and… And we're in love. You need to go and find someone who won't… Who won't break your heart._

"_We can't… no, _we won't _ever be together. So please… save yourself the pain. And… and we can't be friends, either. B-because you'll just want more and more and I'm not… I'm not the same cheating girlfriend I was a hundred years ago. _

"_So I guess… we'll see each other at the next meeting. I… I'msosorry…" _

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_AN. Please review! …please? _

_This chapter was pretty much the last time you'll see Aus in this fic. I don't really like him, to be honest. I mean, it was easy for him to separate, because Australia isn't tied super_ _closely with Britain… But Scotland is… _

_Anyway, is anyone confused by the whole Gilbert thing? If so, that's good, because I've done my job properly. Is anyone equally as confused by Alfred and Mattie's disjointed discussion? Yeah… I'm going to blame that one on me, staying up until 2 am to write the chapter. _

_EC = European Confederation (that's what it's going to be called, from now on) _

_**There is foreshadowing in this chapter. If anyone can spot it, they will be gifted with a one-shot of their choice. **_


End file.
